


hands on you

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22866514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Jaskier didn’t drink very much very often.He would occasionally have a celebratory beer or ale or even a glass of expensive wine if he was at a party and such a luxury was an option, but he never got drunk.There was a big, big difference because - -Well, Jaskier had a tendency to be wildly clingy with too much alcohol in his veins, he’d been told as much by many different men and women, most of who had acted like it was cute or endearing.Jaskier somehow knew Geralt probably wouldn’t think the same thing. He found Jaskier annoying when he was sober.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 15
Kudos: 766





	hands on you

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: queermight  
> tumblr: korrmin

Jaskier didn’t drink very much very often.

He would occasionally have a celebratory beer or ale or even a glass of expensive wine if he was at a party and such a luxury was an option, but he never got _drunk_.

There was a big, big difference because - -

Well, Jaskier had a tendency to be wildly _clingy_ with too much alcohol in his veins, he’d been told as much by many different men and women, most of who had acted like it was cute or endearing.

Jaskier somehow knew Geralt probably wouldn’t think the same thing. He found Jaskier annoying when he was _sober_.

But they were celebrating because Geralt had just finished a big job and his pouch was bulging with coins and he probably wouldn’t need to take another job for six months, _at least._

Jaskier hadn’t seen Geralt look so - -

_Happy_ in months.

So when Geralt ordered them another round of beer, and a third, and a fourth, Jaskier just kept drinking them.

He was feeling light and airy by the fourth round and found himself out of his chair, dancing around the tavern as a bard that decidedly was _not_ as good as him played upbeat music that made him want to dance all night.

He looked over and found Geralt watching him, an amused quirk to his lips and something like fondness twinkling in his eyes.

Jaskier’s heart squeezed in his chest. There was _another_ reason he avoided alcohol, actually.

It was harder to ignore his feelings for the Witcher when he felt like he was on top of the world, like he could just waltzed over and smack him on the lips and Geralt _wouldn’t_ punch him.

Jaskier spun on his heels so fast he almost fell over and he felt a hand on his shoulder, steadying him.

“Oh, thank yo - ” Jaskier turned and blinked; Geralt stared back at him in that unblinking way of his.

He had an amused quirk to his lips again. “You’re drunk.”

Jaskier smiled tightly. He straightened up and tried not to be too disappointed when Geralt’s hand fell from his shoulder. He’d only been helping him, after all, it wasn’t like he _wanted_ to touch Jaskier, not the way he wanted to him.

All over, every inch of his body - -

Geralt was still staring at him. “Is that so odd?” he asked around the lump in his throat.

Geralt should’ve known better than anyone that Jaskier was not a prude in _any_ area of life.

He enjoyed the finer things in life, like lovely company and delicious food and - - Geralt smiled, just the barest hint of teeth, and Jaskier suddenly wanted to be all over him. Like, even more than usual.

“You drink, yes,” Geralt replied, with a tilt of his head, “But never so much.”

Jaskier shrugged. He pointedly did not look at Geralt’s face. If he barely resisted throwing himself at Geralt _sober_ , he had no chance drunk. “Well, I thought we were celebrating.” He smiled at his feet. “You really outdid yourself.”

Geralt grunted in reply, always the conversationalist.

Jaskier waited, thinking he’d walk away but he didn’t, his feet firmly stayed planted to the tavern floor in front of him. He smiled brighter. “Did you need something, Geralt?”

“Why are you avoiding my eyes, bard?”

Jaskier almost laughed. Gods, what a _loaded_ question. He wouldn’t know where to begin even if he did feel tempted to tell the truth.

“I’m just… admiring the view,” he said.

Geralt shifted on his feet. “Of my shoes?” he asked doubtfully.

Jaskier cracked a smile, unable to help himself, “ _Very_ nice shoes indeed.” He finally looked up, expecting something like annoyance on Geralt’s face – _oh, he wore annoyance well, though_ – but he was smiling, just the tiniest bit, at Jaskier like he was something _worth_ smiling at.

A hand wrapped around his heart, squeezing painfully, telling him to _stop_ before he ended up hurting his own feelings by getting his hopes up. He knew better. Jaskier cleared his throat.

“You may want to go sit back down,” he said breezily, hands on his hips, “unless you wish to join me.”

He hadn’t just _expected_ Geralt to turn him down he _knew_ he would; Geralt hated dancing, had told him as much years ago. Jaskier would’ve bet all his coins on it.

But Geralt – who always had a way of surprising him – tilted his head, lips curling. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry, _what?_ ” he blurted, eyes widening.

Geralt stared at him. “You gave me an ultimatum,” he said with mild amusement, “and I chose.” He extended a hand, and Jaskier looked at it.

“Um.” His heart skipped a beat. _Don’t do it,_ the logical part of his brain was screaming. _You’re just going to get hurt, and you know how you get when you’re drunk. You won’t be able to control yourself._

Geralt patiently waited until finally Jaskier grabbed his hand. Fuck it.

Without saying a word, Geralt led them closer to the bard, who winked at them and started playing a new song. Jaskier could feel dozens of eyes on them, watching them.

“Geralt,” he said, mouth dry. “Are you – are _you_ drunk?”

Because _surely_ he was drunk; why else would he be _dancing with Jaskier?_

Geralt slipped his arms down and placed his hands, lightly, on Jaskier’s waist. Jaskier felt like he was on fire, and not just from the alcohol. “I’m entirely sober,” he said, and he sounded like he was telling the truth but then –

_what the fuck_ was happening?

Jaskier reached up, fingers twitching, and placed his hands on Geralt’s shoulders. He didn’t push him away. Jaskier was and both wasn’t surprised because normally Geralt would’ve pushed him away for touching him but tonight he was acting like an entirely different person, and Jaskier was ashamed by how much he liked it.

He wanted to touch every inch of Geralt, and he was starting to think he’d let him, which was _crazy_ , right? Geralt obviously didn’t want that; he’d never indicated, even _once_ , that he had any interest in Jaskier. Or men.

“I’m really drunk,” he whispered, like a warning.

Geralt looked at him. “Okay,” he said. “I won’t do anything.”

Which – was not what Jaskier had been expecting. “ _What?_ ”

“I don’t want you to forget this in the morning,” was his cryptic reply.

Jaskier suddenly felt sober, like the air had been pulled out of his lungs. Like all he could think was Geralt, Geralt, _Geralt_ – and he was okay with that. “Forget what?” he asked and finally let himself do what he wanted, wrapping his arms loosely around Geralt’s neck.

His fingers brushed Geralt’s hair, tangled and a little dirty from the fight earlier that Jaskier had not witnessed. He’d wanted to, mind you, but Geralt had told him he’d just get in the way.

Fair enough.

“Hmm,” Geralt said, lowly. He leaned forward and Jaskier watched, speechless, as he stopped just a few inches from his face. Their breaths tangled together. “This.”

Jaskier curled his fingers in Geralt’s hair. “Am I, like, passed out on the floor of the tavern right now?”

Because _that_ was certainly more likely.

Geralt snorted, “No, but…” He pulled back and Jaskier stomped down his disappointment. “Thanks for reminding me.” He took Jaskier’s hand, _again_ , and dragged him out of the tavern.

Jaskier realized, idly, that he was taking them to the inn they’d been staying at for the last few days.

His heart thumped loudly behind his ribs. He wondered if Geralt could hear it. Then, when they were in their shared room, the door closed, Geralt proved he could by asking,

“Am I making you nervous?” And ironically _he_ sounded nervous. “That wasn’t…”

Jaskier threw himself at him because he could only take so much, okay? He covered Geralt’s mouth with his hand and stared up at him, their bodies slotting together. He ignored the heat in his groin and asked, “Wh – what is going on, Geralt? I – am I imagining this or–?”

Geralt raised both his eyebrows and Jaskier blushed, taking his hand away.

“You’re not imagining anything, Jaskier,” he said blandly. “This is really happening.”

Jaskier nodded dumbly. “Okay, and um – _what_ exactly is happening?”

“I’m trying to court you but obviously – ”

He was interrupted by Jaskier’s loud laughter. Of all the _words_. “Court?” he parroted in disbelief, eyes wet from all the laughing. Geralt stared at him, lips pressed together, obviously unimpressed with his reaction. But he was drunk, okay, and Geralt had just said _court_ like Jaskier was some _maiden_ or something.

Geralt frowned and placed his hands back on Jaskier’s hips. “I’m not very good at this – ”

“Yes,” Jaskier said through a grin, “I can tell.”

Geralt pinched him, hard, in the sides and Jaskier yelped, “Can you shut up for _five_ seconds?”

“Yes, yes,” he said before clapping his hand over his mouth.

Geralt looked equal parts exasperated and fond, which was a step up from usual, honestly.

“I’ve been…” Geralt took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. His fingers twitched against Jaskier’s hips. Jaskier had never seen him look so _nervous_. It was both endearing and worrying. “I’ve been thinking about _this_ ,” he said, “for a while.”

Jaskier was too drunk to try and decipher what the fuck he was talking about. “Geralt, _please_.”

Geralt just grunted and tugged him closer, their cocks, half-hard, rubbing together through many, many fabrics of layer. Jaskier hadn’t even realized he was _this_ turned on. But made perfect sense, really. He had spent many years dreaming of doing exactly this and now not only was it happening but Geralt was initiating it.

“I – wow,” he breathed, at a loss for words. “I don’t know what to say.”

Geralt smirked. “There’s a first for everything, apparently,” he drawled and Jaskier wanted to kiss him.

“Can I?” he asked, vague as fuck but somehow Geralt knew or maybe he was just blindly putting himself in Jaskier’s hands because he said,

“ _Yes_ – ”

and Jaskier jerked forward, slamming their lips together. Geralt growled, low in his throat, and Jaskier wanted _everything_. He wanted to drop to his knees and take Geralt in his mouth – he’d seen his cock before and it was, unsurprisingly, as big as every other part of him – and he wanted to jerk him off, slow and teasing, and push Geralt down on the bed and climb on top of him and ride him all fucking night.

Geralt pulled back, pressing their foreheads together. “We – we shouldn’t do this.”

Jaskier almost sobbed, “You can’t keep giving me mixed signals like this,” he said, nearly pleading.

But Geralt just smiled and kissed him again, quick and soft, “I mean, you’re drunk. We should wait.”

“I – ” Jaskier laughed, light and airy, “You are a good man, Geralt.”

He grunted in reply and Jaskier reached down. Geralt pulled back and watched him with dark, cautious eyes but he didn’t stop him. Pleased, Jaskier slipped his hand inside Geralt’s trousers. He was hard and burning to the touch and just as big as Jaskier remembered, mouth almost watering.

“We should wait,” Jaskier said finally, agreeing, “But we can at least do this.”

Because he wanted it – Gods, did he want it – and he wouldn’t be able to be satisfied with just his own hand, not tonight. Geralt nodded and slipped his own hand, down, down. Jaskier gasped, jerking, when Geralt finally wrapped the calloused fingers of his hand around his leaking cock.

Somehow it was like Geralt already knew what he liked because he started to thumb the tip of his cock right away.

Jaskier knew he wasn’t giving as good as he was getting but he blamed it on the alcohol and the fact _Geralt of fucking Rivia_ was touching him, okay.

Give a man a break.

Geralt didn’t seem to mind, at least, burying his face in Jaskier’s hair. “Come for me, my little songbird,” he whispered and – oh, what the fuck, that was just _unfair_.

Jaskier spilled over his hand and ruined his trousers, and Geralt followed immediately after.

Like watching Jaskier come undone had been enough to push him over the edge. _Fuck,_ he thought.

“Fuck,” he said.

Geralt leaned back and pulled his hand out of Jaskier’s sticky, wet trousers. “We should probably…”

“Oh, absolutely,” Jaskier agreed. “I am not sleeping in these conditions, not even for _you_ , my dear Witcher.”

Geralt snorted, and for a moment neither of them said anything. Geralt looked unsure of himself, and Jaskier was just afraid if he said something he’d ruin everything and Geralt would stomp out of the room angrily and tell him he’d made a mistake, and that he didn’t actually want _him_. And why _would_ he?

But then, “I’ll go find the innkeeper, ask her for a bath,” Geralt said. “One should be enough, right?”

And it took Jaskier, the fool, a long few seconds to understand what he was asking, “Oh.” He smiled, bright. “Um, yes.” He had been in the room with Geralt as he bathed many times, sure, but they’d never actually _shared_ a bath.

Excluding the times they bathed together in streams while traveling, but that hardly counted because Jaskier had always looked away and there’d always been at least a few feet between them. Jaskier had always dreamed of washing Geralt’s back for him.

Jaskier waited until Geralt was at the door to say, “You know we’ll have to talk about in the morning, right?”

Because he had so many questions and just as many secrets he needed Geralt to hear, like how he’d wanted him from the second he saw him alone in the back corner of a tavern, _brooding_ beautifully.

Geralt nodded, once, a determined set to his jaw, “And we will,” he agreed. “In the morning.”

And that was good enough for Jaskier.

**Author's Note:**

> to support me and my fics, please check the link below:
> 
> https://korrmin.tumblr.com/writing


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